


"How did you not know you're a masochist?"

by Ohgod_pleasehelpme



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Author Is Sleep Deprived, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I blame Twitter, I don't think I have to say it but, Inappropriate Erections, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Masochism, Model Atsumu wants to get a tattoo at Sakusa's shop, Not Beta Read, The Author Regrets Nothing, We Die Like Men, and I wrote it in one go, longest finished fic so far, they don't have sex but it's hinted that they will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohgod_pleasehelpme/pseuds/Ohgod_pleasehelpme
Summary: Atsumu just wanted to get a tattoo.
Relationships: Komori Motoya & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 122





	"How did you not know you're a masochist?"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akaashook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaashook/gifts).



> I blame akaashook, who gave me this idea through a post on Twitter (their @ is @nonlovso). This is all their fault and I'm not even mad despite having just stayed up way longer than I planned.

To say that Atsumu is nervous would be an understatement. He feels like he's vibrating out of his own skin, both with nerves and anticipation. - Nerves because fuck, this is his first tattoo and he's actually doing it and the tattoo artist who will give it to him is super fucking hot and anticipation because he's wanted this since he was like, 16.

The only problem is that Japan really isn't all that fond of tattoos and as a model he can't afford to be labeled as a delinquent. The bad-boy image kind of works for him but his manager said he shouldn't overdo it.

Thus, the tattoo can't be in a visible place.

Still, he wants to be able to see it and he wants it to be somewhat big. – Not the kind of big that covers his whole back or something but more than a tiny music note behind his ear or something like that.

So, in the end, he decided on his thigh.

The picture he ended up choosing together with the tattoo artist is a kitsune, both because he likes foxes a lot and because people compare him to them surprisingly often. They say it's his sly grin that reminds them of a fox. Over time, it's just become a brand of sorts. And now that brand is going to be inked into his skin by the hottest tattoo artist Atsumu has ever met.

As he pushes open the door of the little shop, he tries to stop his hands from shaking but it's a fruitless endeavor. It actually makes everything worse because now that he's focused on how his hands feel he realizes how sweaty they are. The last time he felt like this was probably right before his first shoot with Gucci and that's saying something. Quickly, he pushes the memory away and concentrates on not stumbling into the shop instead.

At the counter opposite the door stands a man that looks like the absolute opposite of the Japanese stereo type for tattooed people: he has light brown hair, a friendly smile and overall reminds Atsumu of a Shiba Inu, not a scary criminal.

When he looks up at Atsumu from his calendar, he smiles. “Hello. Are you Miya Atsumu?” Atsumu nods and hopes that the young man can't see him wipe his hands off on his jeans. “Great. Kiyoomi will get you in just a minute, he's still sterilizing the needles. He's a bit of a clean freak.” From somewhere in the back of the shop, a by now familiar voice shouts, “I swear to god if you keep telling customers that, I'll strangle you! These needles are going into somebody's body, of course I want them to be fucking clean!”

The guy behind the counter giggles and even Atsumu can't help but snort a little, despite his nerves.

The good hygiene of the place is one of the reasons he picked it. It makes him feel a lot more comfortable. Atsumu really wouldn't want to get a tattoo at some sketchy, seedy place.

The artist here also seemed like the best choice. He's good at what he does and while he was a little cold during their previous meetings, he also stayed professional at all times and changed the design up as many times as Atsumu wanted without commenting. To Atsumu, that's really the most important part. Sure, a nicer, bubbly person like his friend and favorite colleague Hinata would've been great but at least he feels safe putting his health into this man's hands. That's all that counts; the man – Sakusa, if Atsumu remembers correctly – is his tattoo artist and not his entertainer. (Though Atsumu wouldn't mind having him as his personal entertainer because it'd mean that he would get to talk to him whenever he wants.)

Just as he thinks that, said hot man walks out of a back room and motions for Atsumu to follow him. No greeting.

“Do you want me to turn around while you take off your pants?” Now, Atsumu is used to being seen in just underwear. It comes with the job, even if he generally keeps his pants on during shoots. Nobody really cares if he wants to be seen while changing unless he's also changing his underwear. Still, he just now realizes how much of a relief even such a small gesture would be right now. He's not sure if he could bear Sakusa's cold stare lingering on him while he takes off his pants. “Yes, please. Uh- thank you.”

Without further comments, the man turns around and lets Atsumu take his jeans off. “O-okay. Done.”

“Lie down, please. And relax, there's no need to be so nervous.” As Atsumu climbs onto the bench? bed? chair? he asks, “how'd ya know I'm nervous?”

Sakusa gives him a very unimpressed look and answers, “you're less annoying than usual. You even said please and thank you.” Now that rattles Atsumu awake a little. He sputters something along the lines of “I'm not annoying!” and then Sakusa snorts and the protest immediately dies down in his throat.

If Atsumu was the least bit creative, he'd say that the two of them should change jobs because sure, Atsumu is hot and he knows it but the man in front of him is so ridiculously attractive that no designer in the world would pass up the chance to work with him. Hell, Sakusa could probably make sweatpants look sexy. And hell, Sakusa in sweatpants and just sweatpants is probably not what Atsumu should think of while he's splayed on the guy's table like an experiment.

He tries to distract himself by asking the first question that comes to his mind. “So, do ya ever like, get actual yakuza as costumers?” “Occasionally,” Sakusa says nonchalantly as he positions Atsumu's right leg how he wants it and gets the left out of the way.

He wants to say something, but his words get stuck in his throat as Sakusa wipes down his thigh with some kind of disinfectant or antibacterial stuff – whatever it is, there's alcohol in it, judging by the sharp smell – because the touch is weirdly intimate. Despite Sakusa's unbreakable professionalism. Finally, though, Atsumu manages to get out, “and yer not scared?” He's going to be honest, he's a bit awed. On the other hand, he can see Sakusa's arms flex while he's transferring the final design onto Atsumu's thigh and can't help but ask himself what kind of workout he must do to have such muscles.

“Not really. If they want something from me then they're gonna have to act accordingly. I don't tolerate brutes in my shop so if one of them tries to harm me or Motoya, they're out on the street faster than they can count to three.” (Atsumu idly considers what it must be like having balls of steel but quickly decides that thinking of his tattoo artist's balls is just weird, even if it's in a jokey way.)

“Anyways, final chance to change something before we start. Is the placement okay?”

Atsumu takes his time to consider the lines on his thigh. This'll be final. They'll be there forever in just a few hours if he doesn't say anything right fucking now. “Fuck yes.” (Atsumu doesn't see how Sakusa's mouth curls into the tiniest smile as he stares at his thigh in obvious anticipation.)

“Okay, then. If you want a break, say so. Want something to squeeze? I have stress balls for this kind of thing.” That's actually really nice and thoughtful, Atsumu thinks as he nods. He's not sure he'll need it but in the worst case he'll just have something in his hand and in the best case it will help him endure the pain that's undoubtedly about to come so it's not like he has something to lose. What he doesn't admit to himself is that he's kind of trying to draw this out because while he's ready for this step and the fact that he's committing to something for once he really isn't ready for the pain. Atsumu doesn't even know what to expect. Will it be bad? Like, really, really bad? Or will it be in his range of pain tolerance? Will he need breaks and if so, how many? How many are normal? He's afraid to ask. But what if he needs way more and Sakusa will think of him as weak? Atsumu doesn't even know why he cares in the first place. Sakusa's a stranger. If he doesn't want to, he'll never have to see the man again.

He jumps at the warm touch of a gloved hand on his right knee and just then realizes how fucking nervous he is. Even the shaking is back, more intense this time. The fact that Atsumu has never done this before is becoming not just glaringly obvious but something he'd call a problem.

“Relax. You'll be fine.” Atsumu sighs but lies back on the padded desk and takes multiple deep breaths, lets the tension seep out of his body. He decided to trust this man so he'll stand by that decision. Now is not the time to second guess himself. Still with closed eyes, he says, “okay. Okay, you can start.”

And Sakusa just hums before turning on the tattoo gun and doing exactly that.

The feeling is- well, it's something. Not quite as painful as Atsumu was afraid it would be but he can see why people would need breaks. The repeated stabs of the little needle burn, maybe or maybe not amplified by the ink or the disinfectant. Either way, the stress ball was a good idea. For a minute (Atsumu thinks it's a minute, at least) Sakusa just works in silence before checking in on Atsumu. Atsumu tells him that he's doing okay, even as his hand cramps around the poor stress toy in it. “Has any customer ever broken one o' these?” he asks to distract himself. It sounds strained even to himself.

“It's happened a few times, yes. Why? Do you think you'll break it?” Atsumu hopes he's not just imagining the teasing undertone of Sakusa's voice. In case he is, he gives a simple “Dunno.” as an answer.

For the next few minutes Atsumu just concentrates on the tattoo gun's whirring and the warm hand on his knee. It's kind of nice like that, actually. Sakusa's touch is almost gentle, it creates such a stark contrast with the stinging pain. – And god, does it hurt.

The sting is worse than that one time Bokuto clapped him on the back after showering, completely mindless of his strength, and Atsumu couldn't do the planned shoot the next day because he would've been shirtless and that would've shown the hand-shaped bruise on his back. (Bokuto had been very distraught about this little accident.)

Before Atsumu even knows it, he quietly groans, “fuuuck.” The pain is messing with his brain-to-mouth filter a bit.

“Do you need a break?”

For multiple long seconds, the words don't register.

Sakusa turns off the tattoo gun, the whirring is gone but the pain is still there and, without the noise to focus on, actually much more apparent. “Don't stop, don't stop!” Atsumu begs. “If we stop now, I don't think I can continue.”

He's very glad when the noise starts back up again and the tattoo artist continues on with his work. He's still clutching the stress ball tightly but the noise is helping and the hand that had formerly been resting on his knee starts rubbing it.

Atsumu doesn't know if that's a normal, professional thing for a tattoo artist to do but even if it's not, he can't bring himself to mind. It's so nice. For someone so cold Sakusa has really warm hands and it's almost like he's petting Atsumu. The gentle touch does exactly what Atsumu assumes it's supposed to: it distracts him. It helps him get into a comfortable headspace. Before long, he's just laying there, taking it. Mindlessly taking everything Sakusa is giving him, both the pain and the gentle touches, the discomfort and the tattoo gun's noise – not that he even still remembers why he's there in the first place. He has no clue where he is or why, he just knows that he never wants this to stop because it feels nice.

And Atsumu doesn't even notice when the words “fuck, s-so good” pass his lips but then Sakusa stops and he suddenly looks very unimpressed when Atsumu opens his eyes to look at him. Confused, Atsumu looks at him for a few more moments before his brain processes what he just said.

“Oh my god, I have no idea where that came from, I'm so sorry!” He suddenly feels much more awake and present again.

“Yeah, sure. And you totally didn't know you'd get off on this, either.” Don't get Atsumu wrong, he'd understand confusion or even a little anger. That accusation, however, is too much. “Get off on- what the fuck? I'm not getting off on this!”

The tattoo artist's gaze very pointedly switches from Atsumu’s face to his lap and when Atsumu looks down he sees that he is, indeed, hard.

“What the fuck? I- Just what.”

“Wait, you actually didn't know you were a masochist?”

Looking back at Sakusa and his annoyingly sexy half-smirk, Atsumu squawks, “I'm not a masochist!” Sakusa raises a brow at that statement and Atsumu decides that it's probably better for him if he doesn't look at his unfairly perfect face so he lets himself fall back against the table. For good measure, he covers his burning face with his hands.

“I swear I didn't know. God, this is the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me and I shared my room with my twin all throughout puberty.”

Chuckling, Sakusa pats his knee. Atsumu can't help but feel like he's being made fun of a little, even if it's not in a mean way. The fact that it makes his traitorous dick twitch doesn't help anything. “I'm honestly impressed that you managed to miss such a thing. Are you a virgin or how did you do it?”

“I am not a virgin! I just never tried around that much,” Atsumu confesses, “I've never really had time for long relationships until now and one-night-stands aren't exactly the best opportunity to try out things like- I don't know how I'd even find this out.”

“Well, either way, we still have a tattoo to finish.” Atsumu shoots up at that statement and looks at Sakusa in a mix of confusion and awe.

“You still want to finish it?”

The man shrugs. “It's not the first time it's happened, you know. This happens surprisingly often, actually. At least to me. Motoya says he's only had it happen once.”

Instead of saying something about the fact that perhaps it also has something to do with the fact that Sakusa is very hot, especially when he's all icy or teasing, Atsumu bites his tongue and lies back so Sakusa can do his job.

The rest of the procedure is very awkward for Atsumu because he's suddenly not just hyperaware of the hand softly rubbing his knee but also on what it does to him and that Sakusa knows what he's doing to him and oh god, how did he miss such a huge turn on of his? Maybe half the reason he was so attracted to Sakusa in the first place was just the way he treated Atsumu. The icy looks, like Atsumu is below him and the slightest hint of belittlement in their interactions. Thinking back to their first interaction with his new knowledge actually makes Atsumu whine out loud. He knows immediately after that the whirring of the tattoo gun isn't loud enough to cover up the sound; that Sakusa most definitely heard that and that he knows it wasn't just out of pain. But by now it doesn't really matter, anyways.

When Sakusa slides him a sheet of paper with instructions of how to treat his fresh tattoo in the next few weeks after he's paid and Atsumu spots the hand-written numbers at the bottom of the otherwise printed sheet he can't even believe his luck.

**Author's Note:**

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